Daddy's Little Hero
by Alien-Ariel
Summary: Like father, like daughter; of course the most forgotten Minuteman fathered the least publicized Crimebuster. But that didn't bother Sherry, aka Deltamethrin; she enjoyed the game. Too bad her partner got lost in it. Could she as well? GN, with some movie
1. Chapter 1

**Yeah, I know. Shoot me. It's Rorschach and a woman together. I encourage everyone to give it a go anyway, because it might surprise you. I VOW not to make this the typical Rorschach/Mary Sue fodder so intrinsic to the label. You all can hold me to it.**

**I'm still fairly new to Watchmen, but I'm doing my very best to re-read the GN and absorb every detail of the characters and plot. I've got a list of dates, villains, heroes, personalities, etc. So fear not. I obsess like no other!**

**This one's short, but the others will be longer, as per usual.**

**PICTURES ON PROFILE!**

**Tell me what you think, and enjoy!**

I'm not quite certain how this happened. Some of the details are sketchy and muddled, made fuzzy by the rushing of scenes and stimuli, flat from my single point of view. All I know is what I know, because no way in hell would my partner ever recount his side of the story or his feelings about it. It's unbearable at times; sometimes I question how I dealt with his mysterious ways and apparent issues with the singular fact that I am a woman, for so many years. I was young; that was probably the easiest excuse. There was never really any share of understanding and support.

But I guess I'm not being fair. My other partner, Dan, told me his thoughts constantly, all most to the point that I regret asking. He still does; calls all the time. In fact, the phone's ringing now; I would bet my left arm it's Dan checking up on us. Anyway, so maybe I should wonder why I don't include the second Nite Owl's recant of things? Hmm. That's a good question.

Maybe I just want this to be about me, Sharon Lewis. Sure, it's a selfish and biased thing to write your own story and your story alone, but there you have it.

This is my perspective on a number of events that happened throughout my life so far. I can't promise that they'll be wholly accurate, and I know it won't follow any structured and accepted form of chronology. But this is how it makes sense to me. Plus, a little uncertainty on the part of the reader can be enjoyable. Jon was always saying that we take not knowing for granted. So, as the author, I'll hold some things for later, and reveal others sooner. That's part of the fun, part of the game.

Regardless of how the timeline reveals itself, this is the story of how, by some unknown and completely unanticipated miracle, I came to be important to the person most people know as Rorschach, masked vigilante and later psychotic mass murderer. I know, sounds unbelievable. It's true.

Don't believe me yet? I don't blame you. I hardly believe it myself, and I lived it.


	2. Masks

I arrived by myself to the first Crimebusters meeting. Well, the one and _only _meeting, I guess it turned out to be.

I heard about it through Laurie Jupiter, the daughter of Sally Jupiter and the supposed "Silk Spectre II". Her mom knew my dad because they were both Minutemen together. We (my dad and I, I mean) had visited the Jupiter house one time when I was 18, back in '63. Ms. Jupiter had tried to put together a small reunion for the group; I had gotten the invitation in the mail. Since dad had already been institutionalized for his alcoholism and "rapidly progressing schizophrenia" for a year, I took the letter to him the next time I visited. For as much as he understood, he seemed excited; I arranged for him to get leave with the orderlies.

Once there, I wished I hadn't gone. Dad was in a bad way that afternoon, and he was having some problems remembering things. I think Ms. Jupiter could tell how upset I was getting; she suggested I go with Laurie to her room.

"Is that your grandpa?" I remember her asking right away. I swallowed hard. Did he really look that old, or did I just look young?

"No, he's my dad." I said evenly, "He was Mothman."

"Oh, I know Mothman. Didn't he get carted away to a nut house last year?" She asked, flopping down on her bed unceremoniously.

"He's sick, not crazy!" I replied a little too heatedly, clenching my fists. I tried to calm down. Don't be melodramatic. Count to ten and back. She's just a kid; five years is a big difference between young girls.

"Sorry." Laurie said in a tone that didn't sound apologetic in any sense of the word.

Despite my rather disastrous first impression of her, we kept a light relationship over the next few years. It was probably just from the sense of fraternity we felt from both being the children of failed masked avengers. Mine just failed a bit harder.

At any rate, three years later in 1966 we were talking on the phone one night. She was complaining about this "meeting" her mom was making her go to at the end of the week. I was just barely listening as I flipped through the latest _Mad Magazine_.

"Does that hysterical laughter translate to 'no fucking way will I go', Sherry?" I heard Laurie moan through the receiver.

"Sorry, that was someone else." I tried to lie, "What did you say?" She sighed with more weight than was necessary.

"This Crimebusters meeting. Will you get a costume and join it with me?" She repeated very slowly and with thinly veiled sarcasm. I sat bolt upright.

"Like a masked hero thing?" I asked.

"No, Sherry. It's a kink group my _mother _thinks I'd like." Alright, I smiled at that one, I admit, "Of _course _it's a hero thing."

"Alright, I'll go."

"Sherry, is that you?" Laurie said later that week as I met her at the gate to Captain Metropolis's mansion.

"The one and only." I articulated from behind my gas mask, arms spread wide away from my body. I did a little turn in my antique World War I uniform, jazz hands and swaying hips were necessary.

"Why are you dressed so scary?" She asked me, her long ponytail swishing from side to side as she shook her head.

"Because I'm-" I struck a pose, "Delta-_meth_-rin: dispenser of justice and bane of criminals everywhere." She gave me a look that needed no interpretation.

"It's a pesticide." I answered her stupor, "For moths. I thought it was clever."

"You know, in the field you won't actually have time to explain that to the guys you'll collar."

"Well at least you admit that I _will_ collar some bad guys." I rebutted with some diminished pride. We set off for the door. I tried to ignore her and the looks she was getting.

This meeting Laurie's mom had been talking up to us for the past week sure was a bust. Only, not a "crime" bust, like Captain Metropolis (excuse me, "Nelson") would have liked. The only excitement to be had was the Comedian's little fit; but belches were the only things of any substance that came out of his mouth. That and cigar smoke. Gas, smoke, and a lot of hot air. He did manage to single me out though after Nelson's awkward and uncomfortable greetings but before Ozymandias's lecturing.

"You're Moth's boy." It wasn't a question. He emphasized that he meant me with the lazy pointing of a meaty finger. Two parts flustered and one part intimidated, I simply nodded. Everyone was looking at me. Or, at least it appeared so; the masks made it hard to be sure. I shifted my weight to my left leg and crossed my arms.

"Deltamethrin's a pesticide. Cute." The drawl in his words made me feel silly though. Nelson coughed lightly from his mouth, not his throat. Social cues turned most eyes back to him, except for one man. I'm assuming gender. The obscure black and white swirls of his mask were pretty ambiguous. He stared at me. I stared back as penetratingly as possible. Then I looked away. I think he might have too after a few beats.

I arrived by myself, came in with Laurie, and then left by myself; I couldn't stand those looks she was throwing at that blue guy for much longer. I think he's famous. But he was spoken for at any rate; pretty tacky for her to bat those long lashes at a man with his girlfriend right there.

I tromped down the innumerous stairs and out onto the drive, annoyed with everything. Annoyed with Laurie. Annoyed with the Comedian for thinking I'm a boy. Annoyed with Ozymandias for being an insufferable douche. Annoyed with that other guy for fixing that anxiety-inducing stare on me.

"You look irritated." Some mind-reader said to me.

"I'm annoyed that this Crimebusters thing isn't happening." I said in reply to one of the other men from the meeting. It wasn't a complete lie. Night Owl II: overgrown fanboy.

"Well, it's not the end of the world." He said with a shrug and approached me.

"It very well could be for all we know." I'd always had a flair for dramatics.

"You make a good point." Some raspy voice said from behind us. The mask from earlier materialized from the darkness and walked over, hands in the pockets of his leather trench coat.

"Me?" I asked dumbly. He nodded and stopped several feet away from me.

"You aren't a man." He said by way of a reply. I cocked my hip and crossed my arms again, "You stand like a woman."

Oh. Well, yeah. My arms fell for a moment before reaching up to remove my gas mask. My shoulder-length black hair flopped back down against my neck as I rather self-consciously adjusted my bangs. The masked man looked uncomfortable about it; I could see his hands clench even through his pockets. That made me more self-conscious.

"I am Mothman's kid. Call me Sherry." I said. Night Owl echoed me, gave me his hand, and said his name was Dan.

"Rorschach." Was all the other man said when I turned back to him with shyer eyes than I usually use. He didn't take my hand but gave it an awkward half glance.

"So." I breathed out in a long, slow intonation to break the lengthening silence, "I don't suppose you all might want to work together?"


End file.
